WARNING:Exam Revision May Impair Grasp On Reality!
by FuchsiaII
Summary: Humourous surrealism, to combine three loves: beautiful men, comedy, and faint dislike of the modern world. Anyone who also likes those three things can come and join in!
1. One Way Round

**WARNING: Exam Revision May Seriously Impair Your Grip On Reality!

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**One Way Round – England, Near London, May 2006**

Wat liked the game on the Playstation 2.

It involved Hitting Things, and instead of the Things hitting you back like they did in real life, you got Points for hitting these Things, and lots of satisfying 'Oomph!' noises. He grinned.

'This is excellent! Can we have one to take back with us?'

'That depends,' I said from my position on the sofa, a few metres away, 'have you any electricity?'

Chaucer squinted at me from the other sofa-cushion: 'What?'

'Yes?'

'No, not _you_, you ginger clot! Never mind - if we haven't heard of it, we haven't got it. How did we get here anyway?'

'Witchcraft,' I grinned at him.

'You've _bewitched_ me?' Wat paused the game and looked round, shocked.

'Oh, pick an explanation, I can't be bothered with them! You're having a dream, or I am, or you're imagining it, or something. What is this, one of those godawful stories where people spend fifteen chapters spouting tosh about a talking bird and mysterious dreams and then finding some mystic portal into…' I sighed in exasperation and gave up.

'Couldn't be bothered with them myself,' Chaucer smiled.

'No. That's why your masterpiece basically begins '…_And then I went down the pub and met these blokes_…'. Speaking of which, you're supposed to be helping me study. I bring you back here for some assistance because I've got an A-Level exam on '_The Canterbury Tales'_ in three days time, and first Wat insists on eating all my revision-break snacks, and now we're discussing Tekken 3!'

'Right!' Chaucer said, instantly play-acting at being studious and thumbing furiously through 'The Merchant's Tale', 'May I ask what you're studying to be? A teacher? A priest? Seeing as this is a world where you entertain yourselves by making tiny men in boxes fight each other…'

'…I _did_ explain about the Playstation…'

'…it's probably a world advanced enough to let women have careers'

'What am I training to be? Umm…an English-reading…person?'

He stared at me, 'But…you can already _read_ English'

'Yes, but they…' I stopped. 'Look, they just teach you how to read it _better_, alright?' realising that it actually _did _sound lamer than a one-legged horse.

'This system's _insane_…' Chaucer muttered, 'Next you'll be telling me people can fly'

With abysmal timing, a small passenger jet, en route to Gatwick, chugged across the horizon.

Sensing Wat might be about to have a fit, I flung him two packets of Smarties. I leant back, accidentally pressing the CD remote control.

Suddenly, a hideous wailing filled the air, accompanied by what sounded like the Philharmonic Orchestra falling off a cliff and into a scrapyard, maybe yanking some livestock along with them. Wat screamed and fell to his knees. Even Chaucer, naturally a six-foot slouch, jumped about a foot in the air and looked wildly about for the source of all this cacophony.

'Oh Lord! It's the apocalypse! The end is niiigh…!' Wat howled pitifully, clasping his hands together, 'Why's there never a priest around when you need one, if Judgement Day's upon us I'm hanged if I'm going to hell over two un-confessed jugs of mead!'

'It's not the apocalypse, is it?' Chaucer groaned at me, seemingly prepared to believe it.

'No, it's Cradle of Filth, although you could be forgiven for the mistake,' I finally grabbed the remote from down the back of the sofa cushion, and flicked it off, 'Whoops'

'How does that...thing...work?' Chaucer asked, examining the squat little machine that was responsible for the eardrum-bothering.

'Um. I don't know. You just put the disc in and have a special machine that reads the little invisible patterns on it'

'Yes, but _how _does it do that?'

'I...haven't the foggiest'

'Honestly. You're stuck in a world of magic and you don't even know how these enchantments _work?_ And these tabs don't make sense. Look: this one reads 'skip', that one says 'play' – it sounds like bloody hopscotch, where's the 'clap' and 'jump' tabs? Oh do shut up, Wat! Look, ply him with some more of these little honey-beans…'

'Chocolate, Geoff'

Wat gruzzled at us, 'Shut up y'self, y'lanky git! I've just experienced serious trauma'

'The only trauma you ever went through was an empty plate And you can fong me for that when we get back,' he said, dismissing Wat's fists with a faintly camp wave of his hand, 'but I'm currently somewhat preoccupied, alright?'

'Geoff, this really is too much,' I said, examining _The Merchants Tale_ with a faint smile on my face, 'This is _filth_. This is medieval pornography'

'How dare you! How dare you reduce my _art _to a lewd woodcut!'

'Lewd woodcuts?' said Wat,' Where…oi, lemme see'

'I don't _have_ any, you vegetable' Geoff said wearily.

'You've got characters fornicating up a pear tree!' I flapped the book at him, 'Where do you get your _ideas_?'

'The muse comes upon me,' he said shyly, clasping his hands together with exaggerated modesty, peeping up from under colourless eyelashes.

'Look, your royal coyness, it's a physical impossibility'

'Yes?'

'Yes'

'Prove it'

'I...well…' I goldfished for a while, thinking 'Come with me to the nearest orchard and bring a ladder!' is _not_ an appropriate response, 'Well anyway, I'm not complaining, it's a lot more fun to do an exam on than the bloody Tempest'

'Oh Lord,' he groaned, eyes rolling upwards at the ceiling, 'why did you bring me into the world seven hundred years too early for all the really good reading material?'

'Cheer up, they owe it all to you,' I said perkily, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I bet everyone back home's still la-dee-dahing about in Latin, _Dominus_ this and _Meus_ that, and there you are…'

'…spouting shite…' Wat chimed in

'…fathering the writing of the English Language…wait, did I just use the word 'fathering'?'

'Eh?' Wats ears pricked up, going pink at the charming thought of a new angle on which to point and laugh mercilessly at the poet 'What did you do?'

'_Fathered_ the millions and millions of English language books we read nowadays,' I said woefully, crusading on with the word, one hand clamped across my forehead with embarrassment.

'Cor!' Wat looked impressed.

'Master Falhurst, my dearest carrot, we were referring to the English language. And that is why we don't enter into a conversation _half-way through it,_' Chaucer said, faintly amused, without skipping a beat.

'Yeah, whatever,' Wat grinned, with a hint of a leer,' you're just bein' modest, y'_dog _ain'tcha?' he said, He had about as much chance of understanding Geoffrey's flowerbed of a speaking-way as a no-armed blind archer had of hitting a bulls-eye.

'ANYWAY, I think that's quite enough on that,' I said, before I dug myself any further into the pit of doom I was currently excavating, 'We're not getting anywhere with this revision. I think it's time for a tea-break'

'T?' Chaucer said, frowning.

'Tea' I said firmly, leading the way, wondering if I could maybe just save the environment and boil the kettle on my burning cheeks. Wat trailed behind, staring at everything new around the house in wonderment and furiously chomping Revels.

-

The kitchen proved interesting.

However, they couldn't quite grasp the concept of brand names. Wat flatly refused to try a pinchful of Frosties, on the grounds that anyone who'd taken the trouble to write their name all over the box was clearly quite territorial about their food.

'I'm not having Frostie come after me, finking I've stolen 'is dinner!' he cried, mortally affronted. He really did need to get his priorities sorted.

'I feel I'm wasting my time here a bit,' I said, as Wat got interested in the fruit bowl and Chaucer merely leant back against the wall, breathing it all in and feeling inspired, 'I mean, I could've shown you _anything_. Mobile phones, electricity, DVDs, Empire magazine…and so far all I've managed to do is fret Geoff with all the stories he never got to read and have you both shite yourselves over a CD player. Oh,' I said, as Wat began trembling uncontrollably, pupils massively dilated, '…and give Wat his first sugar high'

'What's 'appening!'

'I knew those M&Ms were a mistake…'I mused, staring at him thoughtfully, 'don't worry, it's perfectly normal. Your body's just not used to the stuff in the chocolate. Give it an hour, you'll be back to normal. It may make you a bit happy'

Chaucer grinned widely

'Oh, looks like that fonging'll have to wait then, you're shaking too hard to even hit anything. Don't s'pose I can I have some more of them to take back with me?'

'Wat, how do you feel about dentists?'

Wat crossed himself and turned pale.

'I think that _might _be a no,' I oohed, handing them mugs of tea.

'S'this?' Wat lifted one out of the fruit bowl.

'Banana?'

'Eh?' Wat stared at it, seemingly faintly amused, 'D'you _eat_ them?'

I toyed with the idea of saying 'No Wat, I hang it round my neck,' but he'd only have gone and believed me, and that might've turned out a little cringeworthy.

'Only,' he sniggered, picking one up. Oh, 'ere we go, I thought with an inward groan, some people really need to grow up. I know exactly what's coming, too.

Wat twitched with sugar-addled giggles 'Well, it kind of looks a bit like a…'

'A…?' Geof said, arching an eyebrow. Wat grinned widely, and opened his mouth, laughing.

'A…!' and the poet neatly inserted said fruit into Wat's wide-open mouth.

'I hope, Master Falhurst,' he smirked, as Wat spat the offending banana out, 'you weren't about to say anything _unfit_ for a lady's ears…?'.

'You…you! Her –she…fonging well…!' Wat spluttered, unable to locate a punchable target to take out his indignity on. In the end, he settled for hurling the banana at the wall, calling it a bastard, and then stamping it into the carpet. Apparently, this proved theraputic – he calmed down and went back to the Smarties after that.

'I don't really count as a Lady, you know,' I nodded to Chaucer quietly.

'I know. I just wanted to see the expression on his tomato-like face'

'Ah'

'Sirs,' I said suddenly, feeling i must return to my studies, 'this has been sod all use as a study aid, but at least it kept me sane. I had nothing better to do, after all. I don't know what to say by way of a farewell…'

'Au revoir, you mean. Don't think I don't want to see you come back to us and make an arse of yourself too. I'll show you all kinds of interesting things you couldn't possibly…know…about' he said, trailing off somewhat at the strange look on my face.

Even writers' words come out mangled sometimes.

'Socially, I mean! Lots of opportunities for you get it wrong and embarrass yourself, it'll be extremely amusing. You really must,' Chaucer said, sounding quite strangely sincere.

'Geoff, give this to William, he'll appreciate it next time he falls off his horse,' I said, handing him a large tube of Savlon, 'and Geoff, if you get inspired to write something in an ink-free place or a moving vehicle or something, keep some parchment to hand and use these, they're easier than quills,' I said, kissing him on the cheek and handing him ten biros (God, I'm pathetic. Crunch time, and the best gift the modern world can offer the greatest writer of the age are some half-used Bics. I feel like a really rubbish version of Lady Galadriel)

'Ere, what about me?'

(Except Lady Galadriel wasn't stupid enough to leave out half the Fellowship)

'Keep the banana, Wat, I don't want it after you've dribbled on it. Oh go on then, take the marshmallows, I don't know why they're in the fruitbowl'

Chaucer, however, was staring at the gift with a look of amazement, testing it out on the back of his hand.

'Holy Mary. It's a quill with ink already _in_ it…' he said breathlessly, 'and it writes _upside down_…'

'Yes!' I said, trying to summon up the same enthusiasm, 'It's really quite…exciting…or not…' I trailed off. Ah well, at least he was happy. Faint embarrassment was probably worth it to see the warm smi…arrogant smirk on his face.

'Farewell then. Please come and make an arse of yourself soon'

'I will, Geoff. And tell you how the exam goes'

'God be wi'ye'

'We've shortened it to 'goodbye', but thanks all the same!'

'Farewell!' they said affectionately.

'Bugger off!' I said, equally affectionately, waving.

Right. Now to tackle Queen Elizabeth 1st for the History Module and I'm _fucked_ if it'll be by the same method!

-

**Review, please, it keeps me happy…sane…alive. **

**I know it's all nonsense, wishful thinking and worse, but _hopefully_ such bosh is as fun to read, as it is to write. One sequel chapter is planned.**


	2. The Other Way Round

**The Other Way Round**

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'Fine beast, isn't he?' said the groom I'd got talking to, raising his voice over the hubbub of the joust spectators.

'Yes,' I replied, following what I thought was his gaze, 'All slender build…long, elegant legs…lean muscles looking good under his coat…'

'Fine tail'

'Tail? Actually, I was talking about Master Chaucer. Though I daresay the horse is nice as well,' I added, eyeballing the groom and silently _daring_ him to comment.

-

Fine, sunny day for a joust, too.

The concept ('I'm-bored-what-shall-we-do-hey-how-about-we-hit-each-other-with-sticks-and-pointy-objects?') itself was the most ludicrous thing ever invented by man– but the frills, like massive grassy fields, hordes of banner-waving happy people, and Wat apparently having multiple orgasms at the sight of a pasty stall, _well_, they were an excellent way to spend the afternoon.

'Tell you something, Geoff, when I go back, it'll be the outfits I miss the second-most'

(Indulge me. Skip this paragraph if you're one of these people who doesn't appreciate that all little girls still love to play dress-up. Full-length sleeveless scarlet kirtle, lace-up laces at the neck left slightly un-drawn, with a black overdress giving it some knee-length _sleeve_ underneath, and the rest of the double-sleeve coming out to a point over my hands. And all this on the pasty skin of someone from the Age of Factor 50 Sunscreen!

'How do I look?'

'Like a wraith cross-bred with Queen Isabella's wardrobe mistress'

'Excellent'

I adjusted the pointy hat, satisfied.

'I should've made you walk down the street back at my place, Geoff. We have _names_ for men who strut about in burgundy leather trousers and fur-trimmed coats on weekdays'

'Stylish?'

'No. Drag Queens'

Chaucer raised an eyebrow, smiling and not understanding.

'Ah, Queens! Well, being named after the aristocracy _can't_ be bad. How excellent to know my trademark flamboyancy will still be recognised by _generations_ to come…they still teach everyone my works, you say?'

'_Yes_, Geoff, I sat an exam on it yesterday'

'Ahhh, I'm a national treasure…!' he proclaimed to the sky, waving his gibbon-like arms heavenwards to God and closing his eyes, apparently overcome.

'Yes. Or just precious,' I said, flopping down delightedly in the long grass. I shook my head, smirking, ' My, my, my we are full of ourselves today, _aren't we_?'

'I have t'be, see,' he said, suddenly bending down to me and talking in a most theatrical whisper, and pausing for dramatic effect.

I cocked my head at him, 'Why…?'

'Yes, yes, I was just _getting there_, y'see, just pausing for effect – because!' he jumped back, lurching backwards, spreading his arms out and tipping his head back to shout at the sky one again, 'I'm introducing the bloody thing! Everyone will be hanging onto my words like baying dogs! Everyone's counting on my wizardy with words, my wicked way with…erk,' he said, falling over sideways and becoming lost to view amid the scratchy jungle of grass.

Unperturbed, I continued making a daisy-chain.

'Geoff,' I said, after a long pause, 'Are you pissed?'

He sat up unsteadily, scratching his head:

'_How d'you guess?'_

-

'Oi! I've got a bone to pick with you!' Wat cried, seeing me approach, 'That banana you gave me – ugh, it was 'orrible, couldn't eat more than half of it. It was all chewy and flat, all tough 'n' stringy like leather!'

'Wat. Did you eat the skin?'

'Er'

'Oh, never mind. Don't hold it against me. I'm sure there's more to you than just what you eat'

'Him? He's a stomach on legs!' Chaucer said cattily, flapping and pointing uncoordinatedly.

'Fonging shut up! Don't disagree wiv 'er, she's a _lady_,' Wat said, seemingly somewhat proud of the almost-compliment. Wow. Pre-feminist sentiments, graciously received by a feminist. I guess you _can_ have your pasty and eat it. I gave up and handed him a large paper bag.

'Woss this?'

'Jellybeans. 40 different flavours equals hours of fun. Probably'

'Mmm, you can say that agai…n…' Geoff's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the three men he'd made a bet with the last time, and _ideas_ started forming in his head. I yanked his coat.

'Don't even think about it! You can go bet on things when I've buggered off home. You've got a problem. You need therapy, sir'

'Yes, but if I could _just_…'

'I'll cause a scene,' I threatened, 'I'll dance the Can-Can, 500 years before it's been invented. Don't provoke me! I have striped stockings and I'm not afraid to use them!'

'Oh, spare us,' he said, awash with sarcasm,' I mean, I've only marched seven miles to the tournament _in the nude_. Heaven forbid I'm responsible for _causing a scene_. Although, that gang of nuns on horseback that followed me for three miles did more giggling than any women have a right to, even holy ones. _Especially_ holy ones,_'_ he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Wat yelped and spat a jellybean out.

'Uuurgh, s'hellfire!'

'Jalapeno,' I said absently, following Chaucer back in the direction of the main arena.

'You know, some men have _drink_ problems,' he said with mild irritation, 'Some men fight with their neighbours. Some men hit their wives. Some men _play croquet_ - although that last one's beside the point…anyway, the point is that rolling a few cubes with dots on them about and swapping coins one or twice is a pretty harmless activity by comparison!'

'Yes, Geoff,' I said automatically, finding a place in the stands, 'Now, be a dear and sod off and talk eloquent nonsense, everyone's dying to hear it'

-

'What's a vampire?'

'Why'd you ask?'

'Geoff said it was written on your tunic las' time we saw you'

'That was very observant of him, Master Falhurst. 'Tis a creature that sucks blood'

'Hello?' Wat said smarmily, 'That would be a _leech_?'

'And holy crotch, would 'Queen of the Damned' have been a whole a lot more fun if that were true!' I crowned, giving him a mighty thumbs-up, and getting mental pictures of six-foot leeches in period costume.

'Anyway, are you watchin' this joust or what?'

'Watch a lot of men dressed as baked bean cans hit each other with pointy sticks? God, I ho…'

'Look, will you just use the right _word_! It's a lance! L –A –er…uh…' Wat tailed off, realising the absence of an 'N' in the only two words he could write (his name) spelled D-I-F-F-I-C-U-L-T-I-E-S. He shook his head. Why could girls never get that bit _right_?

'You know something? I almost wish I could stay here. I mean, check it out. You've actually got _trees_ here. _Trees._ Air. Forests. Fields. Mud. Imagine…no concrete. Amazing'

Wat was staring at me, jaw dropped.

'You're _mad_, you are!'

'Mad? Mad to think everyone living, working and travelling in little metal boxes is effing godawful?'

'Who cares!' Wat cried, 'You've got _Smarties_!'

'Oh Lord, I've only gone and got him on his high horse again…' I muttered, suddenly wanting to drop the issue. Wat maybe wasn't the best person to bounce philosophical concepts off of.

Chaucer had come over half-way through, still waiting to do his speech: 'On what?'

'No, that's called Slash,' I smirked quietly.

'She's gone mad!' Wat pointed incredulously, 'She finks this place is better than her place!'

'And what do you think of her place, Wat?' Chaucer said wryly, as the first set of knights were cheered on by the crowds. Who possibly I should be paying more attention to. But was an argumentative berk who just went for the jugular in debates.

'So help me Mother Mary, but she's got it _easy_!' Wat turned to me furiously, tapping his chest, 'Wanna know where I grew up? It weren't nice!'

'Surprise me. Luton?' I sighed.

Chaucer draped an arm kindly about the redhead's shoulders.

'This is a classic case of _Verdanus sum oppositria_…'

'Geoff, I would _swear_ that's not Latin and you just made it up…'

'Shush,' he smiled a little messily, clearly still drunk.

'In English, _the grass is always greener on the other side_. None of us would be happy whichever place we were in'

'Look, I've 'ad enough of all this. I'm off to find William - it's not far off 'is turn and he'd better get ready. Enjoy your fancy talk, y'set of crackpots…' Wat stormed off in the direction of the tents.

'Yes, it's wonderful here!' Chaucer enthused to me sarcastically, 'The poor eat mud, the rich do their best to take away even that, the priests stop you having any fun, the women are silent, and the nobles…well, the nobles just sort of casually step on your face, maybe do a little dance on it awhile, break one's nose, you know, the usual. It's practically _paradise_'.

'Well, your Royal Sarcasticness, everywhere has its downsides'

'Really! What have you got?' He rounded on me

'Channel Five,' I nodded seriously, 'It's abysmal'

He frowned at me.

'Channel Five? Will you just speak ENGLISH when you talk to me? It's like listening to a foreign language, not that I couldn't carry on in French, Latin or Italian if you liked, but for heaven's sake…'

I stared at him a while, and then carefully said, 'Monty Python'

'We've BEEN through this'

'Weedwhacker'

'STOP IT!'

'Spaghetti'

'I'm going to have Wat _fong_ you in a minute…'

I ceased the childish game, and made one last, futile attempt to convince the creature.

'But wanting to stay here. It's not just YOU, you people, it's like…what you represent. _Yes_, you're all bloody Catholics, but…'

'I'm planning on a deathbed confession, myself. Us poets can't be bogged down in all that confess-my-sins stuff all the time. Plus I gambled my rosary in a fit of winning-streak insanity. And I've done It on a Sunday _(A/N: Apparently asterisks have been outlawed on this site, but see note at page bottom)_'

'…but…oh sod it. Nevermind. You really are a know-it-all, aren't you?'

Chaucer grinned broadly, and a trumpet fanfare drowned out anything he had been about to say.

'My introduction!' he hissed, 'Wish me luck!'

-

A short while later:

'Put them away! That's _indecent!_ Stop waving 'em about, that's obscene and sinful!' Wat stared at me, round-eyed and clearly shocked.

'What?' I panicked, looking down and wondering what on earth wardrobe malfunctions were causing such a stir.

'Them! THEM! Look, you're doing it again, Jezebel!'

'What? WHAT?' I panicked, covering myself. What the…?

'Oh for Christ's sake, your _legs,_' Chaucer rolled his eyes.

'Eh? Oh, right...no miniskirts yet. I _am _wearing tights, you know,' I added reproachfully, lowering my skirts from where I had been sitting in an unladylike fashion, and thinking I'd never feel the same towards my green-and-black stripies.

'Honestly, what d'you think you _do _to a man, flapping them in the air like that? Do women really walk about like that in your place!'

'Yes, and with a lot less on besides'

Wat harrumphed righteously, 'Humph, bunch of harlots…strutting about practic'ly nude…hang on a minute, why am I condemning it…my God, that's _great!_'

'Meh,' I said examining my fingernails and wondering if the mangy fur on Chaucer's coat was cat, rat or unfortunate hamster, 'The men get desensitised to it. It's not that much fun'.

'And blasphemous besides, Wat,' Chaucer mock-chided, hopping up and perching pertly on the rail I was sitting behind, 'Lust's a deadly sin'

Good thing too, I thought, 'specially with you wandering about like a peacock in leather trousers.

'Nice speech,' I said, giving him a miniature round of applause, ' I think you might've lost them at that bit about the windy red tower, but I know they loved hearing it anyway'

He sniffed.

'I know it was imperfect. You put me off, all this talk of labelling places…'

'Labelling things, ah, thass a serious business,' I said, slurring slightly due to having had three beakerfuls of whatever the hell that guy with the tray was selling, 'Some things could do with being better labelled. Married men ought to be more clearly labelled, you know, possibly with their marital status tattooed across their foreheads, in case someone perhaps ingests them by accident and they turn out to be corrosive…'

'Oh, _alchemy_, I know about alchemy. But that's got nothing to do with anything'

'There's nothing more corrosive to the internal workings than an unlabelled man, I assure you. They've got the potential to really burn up your insides,' I said, ever-so-slightly-sullen.

There was a silence, each of us staring roundabout, somewhere between slight uncomfiness and amusement. William had finished, winning his rounds as usual, and the last two competitors were playing it out for second and third place. The afternoon was getting dusky. Prize-giving, and time for everyone to head off to the nearby taverns and get heartily pissed. Nearly time to go.

'Reckon I'll have to bugger off soon. Good thing too, then I won't be here to talk nonsense. Sorry for not making more of an arse of myself, by the way, I didn't manage to humorously insult any noblewomen or get excitingly backed into a corner by a lecherous drunk or anyone, more's the pity'

'Well, s'alright,' Chaucer said, incapable of ever being serious and straightforward about anything, 'That load of shite you just came out with about marriage more than compensated. Wait 'til I tell Phillipa, she'll be deeply amused…' he smiled casually, patting me on the top of my head, the nearest available bit of me.

'Well, I can't take my mead, I'm drunk!'

'Yes, and so was I earlier, and look what it did for me! I was a veritable nightingale!'

'You were a herring-gull'

'I was silver-tongued, speaking in angels' voices, divinely inspired and bloody well socking it to the audience! I knocked spots off the other heralds, with their swanning about and courtly shite…!

'I don't deny it, monkey genuis!But come down off the high, right, or you're liable to fall a great distance?'

Wat appeared to be dozing off on the chair next to me. It felt good to know I had that effect on people. Apparently, though, Chaucer was still in the mood for conversation. He started a completely random topic. He leant back on the fence, stretching out luxiouriosly and lowering his voice as if telling me a secret.

'Been feeling a bit sinful, lately, _actually_'

'I cannot imagine why'

'Well, I was thinking I might go on a pilgrimage'

'Really?' I inwardly smiled, senseing where this was leading.

'Yes. Be good for me, and I might get some ideas for refining these tales I've been thinking about writing down'

'Anywhere in mind?'

He grinned at me.

'Oh - just Canterbury!'

* * *

(A/N from above) Refers to Medieval Church's extremely strict rules about Doing It, a topic on which they wrote and illustrated endless books, which just goes to show how both hypocrisy and blueprints for Playboy magazine have been with us a while. Included purely as an interesting nugget of information to brighten up your day. The rules ran roughly as follows:

Ideally we would not like you to Do It at all. But if you must Do It, you are only allowed to Do It with the person you're married to. No Doing It with anyone else. No Doing It on your own. No Doing It on Tuesdays, Fridays and certainly not Sundays. No Doing It on any Saints Day or Holy Day. No Doing It on Easter or Christmas or indeed for a whole 40 days before those days. No Doing It in any strange position. No Doing it during Lent. No Doing It with any part your body except the bits that were obviously designed to Do It. No Doing It with inanimate objects or anything not a human being and married to you. No Doing It before marriage. No Doing It in any place except your own bed. No Doing It ever again if your husband or wife dies. (And so on and so forth until you want to weep with joy upon discovering Anton LaVey…)

* * *

**You know, at the top of the page it reads 'Unleash your imagination and free your soul'. Probably, it should be emended to 'Unleash your imagination and then watch it roam about, baying insanely and tearing your life to pieces, and then completely fail to get it back on its leash again'. Sigh.**

**Review, please, it keeps me going. I currently have no life, only a lot of exams and revision. _Sobs._ This is my only relief! My only escape! I'm going mental! HELP ME!**

**Ahem. But I'll be fine. Maybe.**


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